


So far

by Loftec



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: AU, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, Seasonal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-26
Updated: 2016-11-26
Packaged: 2018-09-02 06:10:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8653792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loftec/pseuds/Loftec
Summary: The fake dating fic literally no one asked me to write. Happy day after Turkey Day. Explicit for sexual content. No warnings apply.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I took liberties with the timeline for this one, Mickey is more like 23 when Yevgeny is made/born. I have also not cared one iota about researching like, legal procedure when it comes to marriage and divorce and application for citizenship etc etc this time, it's a fake dating fic.

”Mickey?”

Mickey shoots another zombie square in the head and does his best to ignore his sister’s increasingly shrill voice. He’s well aware that he owes her but Christ, she’s been on his ass lately. He slouches down a little when a firm pillow in his face blocks his view for just a second, but still long enough to get eaten.

”Bitch what?” he complains and hits pause before the game resurrects him again.

”You gonna sit here all day?” she asks him, judgement clear in her voice.

”Yeah, I’m gonna sit here all day,” Mickey grouses, ” _been_ sittin’ here all day, it’s my day off and I’m gonna spend it how I like.”

”Whatever,” Mandy sighs and apparently decides to leave him to it without further complaints, sounding annoyed and a little hurt in that way that really gets to him, has since they were kids. Like he’s somehow hurt her personally by fucking up his own life.

Thing is, life isn’t so fucking bad anymore and part of that is getting to live with his sister and spend a whole day playing xbox without feeling like it’s all he’s ever gonna be good at. He’s got a decent job with pretty fucking excellent benefits, he’s got a son he does right by and a recently exed wife he no longer gotta do right by, and their old man is locked up for what’s looking to be a real long time, maybe even for life if their luck hasn’t been entirely tapped out yet.

He knows Mandy wants more for him, like an actual shot at a degree or a Real Career, or like a nice boyfriend or whatever, but she doesn’t get it. There was a time when he thought he’d be dead at twenty-five, by his dad’s hand or his own, not out and recovering and falling in love with his kid and _living_. And forget _happy_ , happy had never been in the cards.

Sighing he tosses the controller aside, it bounces lightly on the couch as he gets up and follows her into the kitchen. She’s got her back turned, taking care of some of the dishes he left after lunch when she was at work, and she’s clearly ignoring him. Picking up his eyebrows and spreading out his hands in a half-assed shrug he walks past her to open the fridge and pull out a cold beer.

”Want one?” he asks and twists off the cap, holding out the bottle for her when she spares him an annoyed glance.

”Sure,” she eventually admits and quickly dries her hands on a towel before she takes the beer off him, leaning back against the counter and staring at him as she tips the bottle back for a sip and he gets another one for himself.

Closing the fridge and twisting off the cap he sits down at her small dinner table, dropping the two caps down on the slightly crummy table runner and downing half the bottle before he looks up to meet her eyes again. She’s gotten changed since she got home from work, but not into her baggy t-shirt and sweats, or that old-looking pair of boxers he doesn’t wanna know where they come from. She looks nice, like she’s going out.

”Got plans for tonight?” he asks, trying to gear up to whatever it is he thinks he might really want to tell her.

She rolls her eyes and takes another swig off her beer, but there’s no mistaking the small smile on her lips as the bottle tips back down. ”Tommy.”

He nods and frowns, picking at the loose edge of his beer’s label. He’s only met the guy once, briefly, but he seemed decent enough. Sure as fuck got the looks going for him, even though Mickey’d sooner shoot himself in the face than admit as much to Mandy. 

She’s been spending a lot of time with this guy ever since Mickey moved in, and Mickey’s starting to suspect that maybe she’s staying away on purpose.

”Look,” he says and winces at his own tone, ”if you wanna bring the guy here I promise to not like, cramp your style, alright? I can go stay at Iggy’s or even guilt Svet into lettin’ me stay on the couch for a couple of nights if you want me outta your hair.”

”It’s fine,” Mandy sighs, but then shakes her head with an amused smile when he looks at her, ”really, Mickey. It’s fine.”

”I know I said it’d only be a couple of weeks,” Mickey tries to apologize without actually apologizing, ”but I need a place where I can bring the kid and there’s always something, mould or damp or fucking drug-wars down the street, who the fuck knew I’d care about any of that shit?”

”It’s fine,” Mandy repeats and now she’s flat out grinning, ”you should have a decent home, Mickey, that shit takes time. Don’t expect to find anything before Christmas, I never have.”

Mickey blinks at her slight confession. He genuinely _had_ thought he could get his hands on a new place within no more than a couple of weeks when he moved out of the apartment he’d shared with Svetlana and their kid, but that’s when he’d also been under the impression that finding a place not hellbent on having him and his offspring killed would be a piece of cake. Turns out it’s not a buyer’s market, and fucking forget about renter’s. So Mandy’s roommate had been suggested he forget about the verbal agreement of two weeks’ notice and take an immediate hike back to his Lincoln Park penthouse parents, so Mickey could pack up his shit and move in and claim the spare bedroom as temporarily his. The guy’d been a total douche anyway, and Mickey hadn’t been too pleased when Mandy’d decided to give him the benefit of the doubt and let him move in six months earlier. Not that she couldn’t be trusted to fuck him up all on her own if he tried anything, but why give the asshole an in to begin with?

”Thanks,” Mickey mutters and tries his best to hold on to his scowl when Mandy bites her lip over a wide smile.

”Guess I should make it a little less cosy for you here,” Mandy teases and holds out her beer, ”hide these for a start, so you don’t get any ideas and decide you don’t ever wanna leave.”

”Bitch, you wish,” Mickey snorts but smiles against his bottle when he takes another quick swig. Mandy cackles like she can see right through him, which she pretty much can, but when she opens her mouth to most likely call him something wholly unflattering, her phone dings and diverts her attention.

”No way,” she says under her breath after a quick glance at the phone, her initial frown smoothing out into genuine excitement as she unlocks the screen and starts typing, grinning like a pleased cat when she seems to get an immediate reply.

Realizing he’s not likely to come out victorious if he tries to compete with fucking Tommy, or whoever’s texting her stuff making her look like she’s won the lottery, he empties his bottle down his throat and belching casually he gets up to grab another one, glancing with reluctant curiosity at his sister over the open fridge door.

”If you’re fucking sexting would you please not do it right in front of me?” he complains, smirking a little when Mandy doesn’t look up but stops her quick typing for a second to give him the finger.

He takes his beer out to the small living room and drops back down into his sofa crease, setting the beer down on the side table to his right so he can enjoy it once he’s killed enough of these undead assholes to get to the next level.

He dies after two minutes, when Mandy walks past him on her way to her bedroom and catches him off guard with one short, casual sentence.

”Ian’s coming over.”

Cursing under his breath he watches his avatar scream in agony and then instantly re-spawn, he’s only got one life left now.

”Gallagher?” he asks, pausing the game again to look up at Mandy.

”Which other Ian do I know?” she asks, like Mickey’s some kinda idiot for not knowing the names of all her little friends.

”Fuck do I know?” he defends his sudden and unexpected interest in her social life. ”Didn’t know you were still friends with that guy, hasn’t been around in a long fucking time ’s all.”

”He’s my best friend,” Mandy says with a shrug, ”you don’t drop friends. So he’s been a little MIA lately, it’s what happens when you get into a new relationship.”

He can tell she tries to look unaffected, but there’s something quick and resentful passing across her features, confirmed when she disappears into her bedroom but not out of Mickey’s earshot.

”Especially when your boyfriend’s a controlling asshole,” she mutters before her head pops back out into the living room, leveling Mickey with a critical look, ”he’ll be here in ten, maybe think about getting dressed?”

Mickey gives her a tightlipped smile and flips her off, but then looks down at himself once she’s disappeared back into her room. Maybe boxers paired with nothing isn’t entirely appropriate for company, even when said company isn’t even fucking his. Fuck, he’d had such solid plans for tonight, and now he’s gotta either make himself scarce or make some kind of minimum effort, his covertly guilty conscience about overstaying his welcome at Mandy’s still pressing against the back of his mind.

He takes a shower, not because of Gallagher but because he’d had a vague desire all day to do so anyway, the urge continuously losing to the much more determined desire to keep his ass firmly planted on Mandy’s couch, and when he’s done he figures he might as well just surrender to social convention and pulls on some sweats and a tank, spraying himself down with some deodorant while he’s at it and pulling a hand through his still damp hair.

He looks like crap, he thinks, hair a mess and clear stains down his tank even though he’s pretty certain he washed it last week. But he’s not gonna stand in the bathroom and like, gel his hair and iron his best shirts just ’cause Mandy’s high school friend’s coming over.

There are voices coming from the kitchen when he steps out of the bathroom, pulling him closer like a moth to a flame. Gallagher sounds much like Mickey remembers him, when the kid had hung around the house all the time under the guise of Mandy’s first honest-to-God boyfriend. Of course it’d been a lie, but Mickey hadn’t known that until years later when he’d been freaking out about his own upcoming wedding and his sister had tearfully told him to ’do what you have to do Mickey, it’s okay’. If he’d known that Mandy had been acting beard for Gallagher their whole time together in high school, he probably would have come clean to her a lot sooner. Not that it would’ve made much difference in the grand scheme of things.

But good God damned, Ian _looks_ different. Broad and strong and freckles paled into practical nonexistence, hair sharp and becoming in a nice, loose quiff and eyes somehow still big and soft as fuck, remaining kind despite clearly having grown right the fuck up, and grown up where he did. He smiles at Mickey the second he sees him, eyes lighting up and his whole face kinda reverting back to fifteen when he does.

”Hey Mick,” he says, causing Mandy to turn around in her seat and Mickey to scowl at them both. This ’Mick’ business was something the kid had insisted on doing back in the day too, and obviously it hadn’t worn off with time. Mickey had never tried to do anything but intimidate Ian since the day Mandy brought him home like some lost puppy, but Ian had never seemed to get it. Or maybe he got it more than most, that Mickey’s always been more bark than bite, and that maybe he tries to keep people at bay for a reason.

Maybe just looking at Ian back in the day had felt dangerous, and maybe it still does. But now it’s fucking thrilling too, in a way that’s entirely new.

”Gallagher,” he says with a dismissive nod and abruptly turns back out of the kitchen to leave them to it.

No longer in the business of lying to himself, Mickey can admit that he’s always had a thing for Mandy’s best friend. He’s sweet and tough in good measures, pretty and hot and funny in a kind of insufferably goofy way Mickey can’t help finding sickeningly adorable. He knows Ian knows about him, too, that shit hasn’t been much of a secret for a while now and he’s pretty sure Mandy told Ian the second she found out herself. He would fault her for it, but at the same time he’s really happy that she has had someone to talk to over the years, someone to confide in and rely on when things went to shit, like things would do when they were growing up, frequently and violently.

So they’re both into dick, check, and Mickey’s got some kinda longstanding crush on the guy, check. But Ian is the kind of shiny fucker who’s never available, always some dude following him around and no doubt worshiping the ground he walks on, as they very well fucking should. Maybe Mickey could’ve gotten Ian to fuck him a couple of times when they were teenagers, but he hadn’t even been ready to throw out an invitation for something as casual as that back then, so fucking forget about an actual relationship-y kinda deal. He’d do okay at it now, he thinks, he’s not some Casanova looking to hook up with anything and everything that walks, and he’s not adversed to making some kind of commitment if the guy is right. But he’s also practically homeless, freshly divorced from his Russian beard, and comes with a pretty non-negotiable two for one package ever since Yevgeny was born. Not a lot of eligible gay guys his age list diapers and formula and waking up at all hours to heart wrenching wailing as ’turn-ons’ on their tinder profiles. 

Yeah Mickey’s on tinder, so what? Everybody and their mom’s got a tinder account these days, it doesn’t mean anything.

And making a move on Ian fucking Gallagher would most likely be both ill-advised and embarrassing.

He’s kinda on autopilot, killing zombies with a newfound casual efficiency, when he slowly, step by step over a couple of minutes, turns the sound down to almost nothing and with half an ear and not really by design starts to eavesdrop on the conversation going on behind him in the other room.

”I have to go there in an hour,” Ian sighs, ”it’s gonna be an absolute shit-show.”

”Come on,” Mandy scoffs, ”just tell them the truth, they oughta be happy that you finally dumped that asshole.”

Mickey only barely escapes around the corner of a building and almost certain death, making a face and smashing all the buttons he can reach at once.

”Maybe,” Ian doesn’t sound convinced, ”it’s like my love life’s become a joke to them though, they’re gonna act sympathetic for all but five minutes and then they’ll be back to lecturing me and tryna set me up with whoever, ’cause apparently they know better than me what I need from a guy.”

”Screw them,” Mandy advices like a boss, ”like they’re dating experts, fuck- Lip especially has no fucking leg to stand on, dumping my fine ass. And you can tell him I said that, by the way, feel free to insult him as much as you want too and just go ahead and blame it on me.”

”I will,” Ian huffs, but if Mickey knows he won’t then likely is Mandy knows so too.

”Tell them you met someone else already,” she suggests, ”just lie your ass off, Ian, tell them whatever just to get them off your back for a while.”

”I’m a shitty liar,” Ian sighs, his chair squeaking when he presumably leans back in it, ”I can’t just make someone up.”

”So?” Mandy gets something quite businesslike in her voice. ”The key to lying is to mix up just enough truth in there to make it sound solid, just say it’s someone you know but they never talk to. Say it’s Mickey!”

The sound of his name has Mickey pressing pause and twisting around on the couch to stare at the two friends in the kitchen, Ian looking a little like a deer in headlights and Mandy already rolling her eyes.

”Say what now?” Mickey asks, eyebrows slowly traveling up his forehead.

”Or literally anyone else,” Mandy tells Ian and ignores her brother, ”actually, forget I suggested Mickey, fake-dating Mickey would be about as helpful as real-dating Mickey.”

”Fuck off,” Mickey complains and can’t quite get himself to look at Ian to gauge his reaction to Mandy’s unflattering opinion of her brother’s qualities. 

”Don’t worry, Mick,” Ian says, and he’s got this nice little smile playing on his lips and one hand held out across the table as though to placate Mickey’s concerns when he finally spares him a quick glance, ”I wouldn’t do that to you.”

Mickey snorts and turns back to the TV.

”Fuck if I care,” he mutters and shrugs, but he’s pretty sure they’re not really paying attention to him anymore.

”Well, guess I better get going,” Ian sighs and then groans, followed by a low thud like his forehead’s hitting the table, ”thank you, Mands. Sorry I’ve been such a shitty friend lately.”

”I don’t care,” she says, voice low and sincere, but then flips to wicked in a split second, ”and besides, you know I _will_ find a way to make you pay.”

”Fair enough.”

”Ugh,” Mickey sighs and scowls at the bloodied ’game over’ on the screen for a second before he tosses the controller to the side and gets up, ”hey losers, I’m gettin’ pizza. You want any?”

He glances over at them, Ian stretched out over the table, chin on one hand and the other hand reaching over to hold on to Mandy’s.

”Nope,” Mandy answers without looking away from Ian’s fond eyes. 

Mickey leaves them to it, ducking into his bedroom to grab his smokes before he pulls on his shoes and jacket and checking for keys and wallet pretty much flees the scene. He’s never had a friend like Mandy has in Ian, but looking at the blatant affection they’ve got for each other is a lot like staring directly at the sun, and he’s not sure he’d really want a friend like that. Especially not if they’re just gonna up and abandon him as soon as some asshole comes along to wedge themselves into the top spot and demand instant priority. Seems like a pretty crappy arrangement to Mickey.

He’s pretty sure Mandy’s always been in love with Ian, anyway, which just straight up gotta suck for her.

There’s a little pizzeria just down the street, on the corner, so he’s given up on the whole delivery thing since he moved in with Mandy, it saves him at least fifteen minutes to go down there himself and it gives him opportunity to have a smoke at the same time, so he figures it’s a win win for him. He orders and pays, and then he stands outside the shop and plows through two cigarettes before they come out and hand him his flat, white box.

It’s pretty cold out, so he tosses his cigarette butt to the curb and makes his way back at a brisk pace, almost colliding with Ian at the gate.

”Whoa,” Ian huffs when he looks up just in time to sway back and avoid disaster, ”smells good.”

He steps back and holds up the gate for Mickey to pass through.

”Don’t get any ideas,” Mickey says and smirks when he turns around and sees Ian’s dumbfounded face, ”you turned me down when I asked if you wanted any, ain’t sharin’ with you now.”

Ian huffs and juts out his chin, making use of his slight height advantage to look down his nose at Mickey. He’s kinda got an underbite, Mickey notes, and realizes not without chagrin that he finds it stupidly attractive.

”To be fair,” Ian says, making Mickey flick his gaze up to look him in the eye, ”Mandy kinda answered for me.”

”Boo-fucking-hoo, Gallagher,” Mickey dismisses his objection and turns to catch the elevator before it’s called back up into the tall building, ”’s what you get for listening to my fucking sister, man.”

Mickey doesn’t turn around until after he’s stepped into the elevator, surprised to see Ian still standing by the open door across the hallway. Pushing the button for his floor he can’t help smirking a little when Ian holds up a hand in a silent goodbye, just as the doors slide shut.

Mandy is about to leave when he returns to her apartment, frowning down at her phone and running around, presumably looking for her keys. She always leaves them in places and then forgets about them.

”In the couch,” Mickey tells her without asking, kicking the front door closed behind himself and walking past her into the kitchen.

”What?” she says but still moves over to the couch to push her hands down behind the pillows, pulling out her keys after a couple of seconds. ”Asshole, why would you leave them there when you notice that they’re inside the fucking couch?”

”Thank you, dear brother, what would I do without you?” Mickey mutters and grabs some paper towels, walking past her again to flop down on the couch. ”Don’t you got somewhere you need to be?”

”Yep, leaving,” she says but turns and stops in the hallway to look back at him, ”Ian’s gonna be staying with us for a week, by the way, until he gets the keys to his new place. Try and not give him any shit when he comes back tonight.”

Mickey flips her off but says nothing, focusing on flipping through the channels on the TV for something passably funny to watch while he’s eating. He’s halfway through Double Impact and balancing precariously on the edge of sleep when the intercom starts buzzing. He thinks about ignoring it for a second but then realizes that it’s most likely Ian, so if he doesn’t get off his ass to let him in he’ll either call again or call Mandy, neither option very appealing to Mickey in the moment.

”Yeah?” he says into the little plastic box, pushing down the button to transmit.

 _”It’s me,”_ Ian’s voice comes through the speaker, _”Ian.”_

Mickey pushes down the second button to unlock the gate and listens for the sound of the door opening.

_”Thanks!”_

Releasing the buttons he unlocks the door and staggers back to the couch, resuming his slouch. About three minutes later Ian’s dropping down next to him, the cushions moving under his weight as he sinks down and groaning puts up his feet on the coffee table.

Mickey had been thinking about going to bed, but glancing at his watch and realizing that it’s only just past eleven he does a 180 and decides on another drink instead.

”Want a beer?” he asks as he heaves himself out of his seat, not pausing for the answer since he just assumes it’s gonna be a ’yes’, considering the day Ian seems to have had.

Turns out he knows shit.

”Nah, thanks,” Ian says behind him, ”already had one with dinner, kinda woozy already.”

Mickey pulls out a beer and without really thinking about it moves over to the sink to pour Ian a tall glass of water. 

”Can’t have more on my meds,” Ian continues from the couch before Mickey’s had time to sharpen what otherwise would have been a pretty damning jab about grown-ass men holding their booze like twelve year old girls.

”You still taking those?” he asks, turning off the tap and leaving the kitchen.

”Yeah,” Ian says and peers up at Mickey with a crooked smile when Mickey walks around the couch and sitting down again hands him his water, ”I’m bipolar, Mick, not like it’s going anywhere.”

”Really?” Mickey slouches down and twists off his cap, trying to remember what, if anything, Mandy told him about this thing when Ian got diagnosed, years ago now. ”So how long are you stuck popping pills and drinking like a nun?”

Ian sips his water and drops his feet to the ground to lean forward and put the glass down in their stead.

”Forty years?” he says like it’s a question, sighing and leaning back, glancing carefully at Mickey when he does. ”Life.”

Mickey stretches out his legs and looks down at his bare feet, arching his eyebrows and inclining his head a little as he takes a quick swig of his beer. 

”Sucks, man,” he says, ”you should sue.”

”Yeah, who?” Ian huffs. ”My crappy genes?”

Mickey grins and shrugs.

”Fuckin’ medical scientists or something,” he tries, smiling when he can tell Ian’s doing the same, shining up his periphery, ”gotta be someone out there you can squeeze for compensation. People’ve been crazy since the dawn of fucking time, you’d think they’d come up with some kinda cure for that shit by now.”

Ian laughs and sinks down further into the couch, knees bent and spread wide, almost knocking into the edge of the coffee table.

”You don’t mind?” he asks, and Mickey can feel himself frowning at the guy’s uncertain tone.

”What, drinking alone?” Mickey says, pretending to be oblivious of what Ian’s really asking. ”Was gonna do that with or without you here, man, don’t worry about it.”

Ian’s quiet for a while, until Mickey almost regrets not taking the opportunity to be a little more sincere with the guy, actually say what he means without dancing around it. Maybe Ian didn’t even get what he was trying to say, that he thinks it’s absurd that the guy even thinks he has to ask if Mickey’s okay with him being fucking mentally ill, like it matters what Mickey thinks anyway. He’s blindly reaching for something decent to say when he realizes that Ian’s looking at him.

”Thanks,” he says, and yeah, Mickey thinks he gets it, smile all crooked and eyes soft.

Mickey shrugs and takes another swig of his beer, licking a stray drop off his bottom lip and then digging his teeth in there, feeling himself relax a little.

”So,” he says and clears his throat, glancing over at Ian, ”how did it go tonight?”

Ian winces and pulls a hand down his face before he looks at Mickey.

”Pretty much as expected at first,” he says, ”and then it got unexpectedly worse.”

Mickey feels like he should be pissed, but instead he finds himself grinning like a wolf. ”You didn’t?”

”Straight up lied,” Ian confirms, ”they started tryna set me up after like five minutes, and all I could hear was Mandy’s voice like a fucking devil on my shoulder going ’do it, just do it, just fucking lie already!’” 

Mickey chuckles into his beer at Ian’s squeaky rendition of tiny devil Mandy. 

”So,” he continues with a resigned sigh, ”I told them I was seeing someone new.”

”Uh-huh,” Mickey hums, not looking to make this any easier on the guy.

”And when that didn’t help,” Ian seems reluctant to admit, ”I might’ve told them his name was Mickey.”

Mickey tries to keep a straight face, ignoring Ian’s searching eyes burning into the side of his face. ”Right.”

”Which lead to a whole thing about Mickey Mouse,” Ian groans and drops his head against the back of the couch, pinching at the bridge of his nose, ”so I kinda told them it was you?”

Mickey can’t take it anymore, he laughs out loud at Ian’s self-inflicted misfortune.

”You’re a disaster,” he snorts, glancing sideways in time to see Ian nod.

”Oh, it gets worse,” he says and changes his voice like he’s mimicking someone, ”bullshit, Mickey Milkovich isn’t gay!”

Mickey rolls his eyes, of course Ian’s fucking family would react like that, thinking they know everything.

”Yeah, well,” he says and shrugs, ”come back to me when you get that shit said about _you_ , to your face, and then we’ll talk.”

”Fuck,” Ian huffs and rolls his head to the side to properly look at Mickey, ”really? People’ve said that to you?”

”More than once, man,” Mickey says with a pained grimace, almost every fucking time he’s attempted any kind of coming out, ”’what? You’re not gay!’ Well fuck you _Janet_ , why the fuck would I lie about that?”

The pillows jostle a little under them when Ian shrugs.

”Some people lie about being straight,” he says, but it doesn’t sound like any kind of pointed comment towards Mickey’s own tenure in the closet, far extending whatever time Ian’d spent in there, ”maybe some heteros wanna be queers and lie about that, too.”

Mickey knows it’s just a throwaway theory coming from a place of sarcasm, but for some reason he has a hard time letting it slide by without challenge.

”People don’t lie about being straight ’cause they wanna be straight,” he mutters and takes a quick sip of his beer before he continues, ”they do it ’cause they don’t wanna be different.”

He frowns at himself when Ian doesn’t respond, looking down at his hands, loosely gripping around the half-full bottle and fingers absently worrying at the damp label. But then Ian moves, picking up his hand and lazily holding out his fist, presumably for Mickey to bump. Well, that’s not likely to happen, but he holds out his bottle instead and gently taps it against Ian’s knuckles in a kind of freak lovechild of a fistbump and a toast.

Ian takes it all the way to dorkville by flaring his fingers out on impact, making a vaguely booming noise to complete the explosion. Mickey shakes his head but can’t entirely hide the slight, involuntary smile breaking out right before he takes another drink.

”So, yeah,” Ian says, shifting a little where he sits, ”guess we’re dating now, you have my sincerest condolences.”

Mickey tips the last of his beer back and sets the emptied bottle down next to the others.

”Guess I could do worse,” he says and burps, ”if I _really_ tried.”

”Thanks,” Ian sighs, but sounds stuck somewhere between affronted and amused, ”Jesus… I’m beat.”

They fall into a comfortable silence and Mickey actually gets to pay attention to the TV long enough to realize that his movie has had time to finish, and now it’s some dumb reality show playing out in silence in front of them. He grabs the remote and looks to Ian to see if he has any preferences, only to find him half asleep already.

”Hey,” Mickey tries to jostle him, punching him lightly in the shoulder when he doesn’t move, ”don’t fall asleep out here, man, take Mandy’s bed. She ain’t coming back tonight.”

Ian blinks blearily and turns his head to frown up at Mickey.

”You sure?”

”Fuck, yes,” Mickey nods, ”and even if Tommy manages to screw up a sure thing and she decides to come home, I swear finding you half naked in her bed has been like, a wet dream of hers since she was fifteen, she’ll love it.”

Ian’s thin, worried lips pull into this dumb little smile as he lets his head fall back again.

”I love your sister,” he mumbles and sounds like he’s drifting off again. 

”You have my sincerest fucking condolences, man,” Mickey scoffs and can’t help smiling a little when Ian only looks happier by his comment, ”and you’re also clinically insane.”

”True,” Ian agrees, voice so low and raspy with sleep it kinda reverberates through Mickey in the dark room, them and the couch isolated by the blinking silent light off the TV. He could sit here with Ian all night, but no sooner has the thought passed through his head that Ian’s eyes flutter open and he heaves himself back up on his feet with a drawn out groan.

He mumbles something as he walks past Mickey, only barely managing to pick his feet up enough to swing them over Mickey’s stretched out legs. 

”Hey,” he says, standing in Mandy’s dark doorway when Mickey looks up, ”I’ma call my family in the morning and tell them it was a a lie.”

”Okay,” Mickey says, something kinda queasy churning through him at the thought. Maybe he liked sitting on this couch and just indulge in the lie for a brief moment.

”And Mick,” Ian hesitates, ”thanks.”

Mickey stares at him until he disappears, not ever sure what to do when Ian keeps thanking him for stupid shit. He turns off the TV and does his best to avoid Ian as they both get ready for bed in different ends of the small apartment. He sits on his bed and listens to the water run through the pipes, waiting until he hears Mandy’s door close again before he takes to the bathroom.

There’s a whole battery of pill bottles lined up on the shelf under the mirror. Mickey absently picks one of them up while he’s brushing his teeth, trying to imagine how to pronounce some of the chemical ingredients. He’s strangely pleased that Ian felt comfortable enough to leave them out like this, or maybe he was just too tired to bother. Either way, he sure as fuck didn’t do it for Mickey’s snooping benefit. He spins the bottle around in his hand, swiping the pad of his thumb over Ian’s name, and then carefully puts it back in its place.

He wakes up the next morning to a distinct smell of fresh coffee, and finds a slightly rumpled version of Ian eating cereal at the kitchen table and trying to smile with his mouth full.

”Morning,” he manages after he’s chewed most of it down.

”Sure,” Mickey mutters nonsensically, still rubbing sand out of his eyes and wishing he could sleep most of today away same as he did yesterday. But he can’t, and really the reason why is good, he just needs to wake up and regain a working perspective.

He needs a shower, especially after struggling to fall asleep last night until he begrudgingly slicked himself up and rubbed one out, three fingers up his ass and thoughts of Ian asleep in the other room pushing at his mind, taking unfair advantage of his vulnerable state. He needs some coffee.

”Want some?” he asks, his brain still working on half speed and not really able to put together why Ian’s only made half a pot and not yet poured any for himself.

”Nah,” Ian declines behind him, ”can’t.”

”Fuck not?” Mickey scowls down his cup, slowly filling up with blessed darkness. 

”Caffein,” Ian says, like stating the fucking obvious is enough of an explanation, ”meds.”

”Ugh,” Mickey groans and brings his coffee with him as he drags his feet over to the table and sits down, ”your life sucks, I get it, now stop talking.”

”Are you fucking hungover?” Ian ignores his request for silence, an amused frown crowning his forehead when he leans back in his chair and Mickey looks up at him, tearing off the edges of three packets of sugar at once and pouring them into the coffee. Both him and Mandy always swipe extra packets of sugar whenever they get the chance, it’s a habit sunk so deep into their bones since they were kids he thinks he’s probably gonna be doing it until the day he dies.

”Fuck off, hungover,” he complains and waves his hand dismissively at Ian before he picks up a spoon left over from something and quickly stirs it through his coffee, ”just don’t like people chatting my ear off in the morning.”

”Seriously?” Ian huffs. ”So far you’ve been talkin’ like, twice as much as me.”

Mickey answers that with a pointed silence and two raised eyebrows, making Ian roll his eyes and hold up a hand in quiet surrender before he turns back to his breakfast.

One or two decent sips of coffee is all it takes for Mickey to wish Ian’d say something else, but the guy suddenly seems perfectly content to eat his cereal in silence.

”Did you call your family yet?” Mickey asks and fully expects Ian to give him crap for it. He doesn’t, just a knowing smirk that dips into something more apologetic.

”Not yet.”

”Well,” Mickey hesitates as a thought pops up that kinda makes sense, even though it probably shouldn’t, ”so don’t?”

Ian’s still chewing on cereal when he makes a face and gets out a garbled; ”what?”

Mickey shrugs and gets up to grab a bowl from one of the cupboards.

”I don’t care,” he says, surprised to realize that he means it, as he sits back down and shakes out some Lucky Charms into his bowl, ”tell ’em we hang out until something better comes along and then dump my ass, makes no difference to me what your family knows or don’t know.”

Ian looks unconvinced.

”That’s sweet,” he says, smiling a little when Mickey stops pouring milk to scowl at him, ”but I might’ve told them you’re coming home with me for Thanksgiving dinner, and that’s just too much to ask.”

Mickey sets down the milk carton and takes a second to think about it, stirring through his cereal and sipping his coffee.

”I’ve got Yev,” he eventually concludes, feeling a little uneasy when Ian looks confused, ”my son? I have him next week so if I was gonna do this thing he’d hafta come with.”

”Seriously?” Ian seems surprised, but not really turned off to the idea because of Mickey’s kid.

”Why not?” Mickey shrugs. ”Not like we have other plans.”

”Shit Mick,” Ian grins, ”that’d be really nice, just the thought of doin’ the holidays alone… anyway, it’s pretty much the first year we got any money so the food’s gonna be off the hook, and don’t worry about Yevgeny, there’s gonna be a bunch of kids there his age.”

Mickey bites his lip over the wide smile threatening to break out on his face, listening to Ian trying to convince him of something he already considers settled.

”He’s one, man,” he chuckles, ”give him a mushed up banana and he’s set.”

Ian sighs and sits back in his chair, shoulders relaxing and eyes steadily on Mickey.

”Fuck, I’m gonna owe you for this,” he says, more like a promise than a complaint, ”kinda just wanted to go to bed and not see or talk to anyone until next year… but now I get to spend Thanksgiving with two good friends, it means a lot.”

”Don’t count on seeing Mandy around any,” Mickey warns him, ”between work and Tommy’s magic dick, she keeps herself busy.”

”Yeah, she hinted as much,” Ian flashes a quick grin and then the corners of his lips dip into something kinda embarrassed, ”anyway, I meant you and Yevy.”

Mickey is surprised Ian even knows his kid’s name, so the look in his eyes when he says it is pretty much on the edge of shocking.

”I helped Mandy babysit him last year when you guys started seeing that lawyer,” Ian offers an unprompted explanation, ”pretty much the cutest kid I’ve ever met.”

”Oh yeah?” Mickey grins, allowing himself to revel in some still unpracticed fatherly pride. It’s taken him a little while to settle into his new role in life, but with every day passing he’s starting to suspect that Yevgeny has already _become_ his life.

”Oh yeah,” Ian repeats emphatically, ”got your eyes.”

”Fuck off,” Mickey tries to bite but it comes out in a laugh.

Ian looks incredibly pleased with himself. ”Is he gonna stay here with you?”

”Yeah, Svet’s bringing him over today,” Mickey frowns, ”would say hope you don’t mind but fucking frankly, if you do then you know where the door is at.”

Ian just grins and shakes his head, like he thinks Mickey’s ridiculous for even suggesting it’d be a problem.

”You have him every other week?” he asks.

”Yeah, paternity leave, man, it’s wild,” Mickey says and rolls his eyes at his own enthusiasm when Ian smiles, eyebrows arched in surprise, ”the whole week off to sit around and play with my son? That’s progress right there.”

They finish breakfast in a kind of companionable silence Mickey can’t really remember experiencing before. It’s not rocking his world or anything, like he’s pretty convinced Ian _could_ be doing if he just cared enough to try, but it’s nice. He has another cup of coffee while Ian’s in the bathroom and then he goes for that shower, trying to ignore the slight damp on the walls left behind his temporary roommate.

When he re-emerges from the bathroom, clean and freshly shaved in just a towel wrapped around his waist and his sweats balled up in one hand, it’s to an odd sight slowly strolling around the living room. Ian’s got both arms securely and easily wrapped around Mickey’s kid, one hand resting gently behind his head so Yevgeny can lean back in his hold and stare up at Ian’s face, eyes wide and hands grabbing at his cheeks and lips.

”Gonna break a lotta hearts,” Ian mumbles and smiles at the kid who immediately mimics him, ”eyes like that sure ain’t playin’.”

”Mickey,” Svetlana’s sharp voice breaks the spell of whatever the hell’s going on in that moment, Ian turning around to look at them and Mickey snapping his eyes off him in time to see his ex-wife stepping out of his bedroom.

”Svet,” he greets her and shoots his kid a quick smile before he shoulders his way past Svetlana and into his bedroom, dropping the towel the second he gets in front of his wardrobe.

”Who is carrot boy?” Svetlana immediately starts the interrogation from the doorway, just about as modest as he is when it comes to casual nudity. 

”You handed off our child to someone without asking who he is?” Mickey counters as he pulls on a pair of clean boxers. ”He’s Mandy’s friend, don’t worry about it.”

”I’m mother, I worry,” Svetlana states, still looking at him when Mickey straightens up and buttons his jeans, zipping up the fly, ”and you are piece of shit husband and only slightly better father, _I worry_.”

”Fuck you is what I am,” Mickey mutters and pulls on a fresh t-shirt, giving her a tightlipped smirk as he rolls it down his torso, ”fuckin’ judge sure thought my apple-pie eatin’ ass was good enough.”

He walks into the kitchen, ignoring Ian’s eyes on him from across the living room when he’s passing through it, Svetlana trailing after him like a dark cloud.

”One day you will fuck up royally, rainbow boy,” Svetlana hisses at him as he grabs the bowls left on the table from breakfast and brings them over to the sink, ”then I will be citizen and get full rights and be free, find Zhenya better father.”

Mickey sighs, gripping on to the edge of the sink and fighting against the urge to start yelling. A year ago and he probably would’ve said ’yes please’ and fucked all the way off, but things change. Yevgeny is the best thing he’s ever had and he’s been trying to make that clear, but Svetlana doesn’t trust him. She’s angry, and he really kinda gets it.

”Think you should leave,” Ian’s voice cuts through the tension and Mickey turns around to see him standing in the doorway with a wide-eyed Yevgeny still in his arms.

Svetlana watches him cooly as he walks past her and into the kitchen to hand Yevgeny off to Mickey, who feels a little caught off guard and like he might have forgotten how to hold his own kid after only a week apart. But he hasn’t, it’s easy, Yevgeny smiles and kinda molds against his chest like he belongs there.

Ian turns back to Svetlana and without touching her firmly holds out a hand to usher her toward the door, disappearing out of the kitchen.

 _”See you in a week,”_ Mickey can hear his muffled voice from the hallway. Yevgeny starts to twist in his arms to look in the direction of the sound of the front door closing, probably realizing that his mom’s no longer in the room. Mickey nuzzles his face against the kid’s temple and presses a quick kiss into his warm skin.

”Gotta settle for me this week, little man,” he mutters and smiles when Yevgeny starts flexing his legs and waving his arms, pointing towards the doorway and making little demanding noises as he turns to frown at Mickey.

Mickey takes him back out into the living room, scanning the place as he walks to make sure Svetlana really left and finding Ian seated on the couch, carelessly flipping through the channels, the TV’s sound turned down low.

He’s got this weird scowl on his face, smoothing out with a measured exhale and a soft smile when he looks up at Mickey coming around and into view.

”Hey,” he says, sounding almost like he’s apologizing for something.

”You okay?” Mickey asks and leans over to set Yevgeny down when he starts to squirm. The kid hasn’t been doing it for long and his walking is still a little shaky, but he runs like a champ. It’s like the momentum keeps him steady when he works his stumpy legs and barrels straight into the side of the couch. Mickey follows him, prepared to swoop in and catch him if he starts wobbling too much.

Ian looks a lot calmer when Mickey glances back up at him, he’s got his eyes on Yevgeny too, hands in his lap and feet planted firmly on the ground.

”Not my place to throw her out like that,” he sighs and locks Mickey into his steady gaze for a second before he looks back down at Yevgeny, the kid slowly but certainly making his way along the couch and towards Ian’s legs, ”sorry, she just rubs me the wrong way.”

”She’s Russian,” Mickey says and shrugs, sitting down once Yevgeny has cleared the first corner of the couch, ”she rubs everyone the wrong way.”

He bites back a cheap shot at her previous career of generally rubbing dudes the _right_ way, he’s really trying not to hold that shit against her anymore. She’s the mother of his kid after all, and never chose that life for herself in the first place. Mickey knows some of what that’s like.

Ian sits up straight and shoots out a hand to steady Yevgeny when the kid trips on his own feet, bumping into Ian’s knee. He fits his big hands around Yevgeny’s tummy for balance but doesn’t pick him up, instead he glances up at Mickey with a question in his eyes.

”Don’t gotta ask, man,” Mickey says and rubs at the corner of his mouth, ”go for it.”

Ian picks up the kid and Yevgeny seems happy enough about it, so Mickey’s happy. Ian places him down on his thighs, the kid’s legs in an angle up his body and his little feet tapping gently against his abdomen.

”She’s pissed,” Mickey says after a moment of easy silence, surprising himself by wanting to say anything about it at all, ”about the divorce. I mean, she knew I was a big ol’ ’mo when she married me but guess she thought we had some kinda agreement.”

Ian says nothing, just brings his hand up and down in small movements when Yevgeny grabs on to his finger, the kid’s big eyes following the movement of their hands like it’s the most fascinating thing he’s seen all his life.

”I did make a promise,” Mickey continues with a shrug, he’s never talked to anyone about this shit before, ”and I broke it. She had this whole life planned out for herself and I chickened out, messing it up. I get why she’s pissed.”

”You did the right thing,” Ian states with certainty and Mickey wants to believe him, even though he isn’t entirely sure he thinks the guy knows what he’s talking about, ”it wasn’t real. She’ll come around, right Yevy?”

”Da,” Yevgeny proclaims and shoves half a foot into his mouth before Ian has a chance to react and at least take off his sock first.

”Is that a dad ’da’, or a Russian ’da’?” Ian wonders and gently grabs the kid’s feet to clap them together, drawing out a big, toothless smile from Yevgeny and a reluctant toothy grin from his dad, ”either way I’m pretty sure your son agrees with me.”

They spend the whole fucking weekend together. Ian doing his thing but constantly gravitating to wherever Mickey and Yevgeny happen to be, and when Mickey takes his kid out to the park on the Saturday it only feels natural to ask Ian along. He could said no, but he doesn’t.

Mandy comes home on Sunday and hogs Ian most of the afternoon, and then insists that they all have dinner together. Having spent most of the day low-key annoyed for reasons he’s not entirely willing to own up to, even privately, Mickey ends up enjoying the evening a lot more than he’d expected. His sister is a lot of things, and Mickey loves and kinda admires her for most of them, but when Ian is around it’s like a whole new side of her comes out, and it shines.

He’s almost sad to hear it when she tells them she’ll be staying with Tommy most of the following week, as she’s hugging them both goodbye at the end of the night.

”One bathroom and two homos,” she says and cackles when Mickey looks offended and Ian self-consciously pulls a hand through his hair, ”between this one’s straighteners and your obsessive gelling, girl’d be lucky to get the time of day to pee around here.”

Mickey would be full-on bitching back if Ian’s reddened ears hadn’t been so distracting, the big dope of a guy smiling fondly when Mandy reaches up to ruffle through his hair and grin at him.

”You should release the curls, Ian,” she says, hooking her arm around his neck and screwing her face up into a passingly serious look, ”set them free.”

”You’re drunk,” he tells her, calmly, a steady arm around her waist, thumb gently caressing her lower back.

”I think I’m happy,” she says, like it’s a secret, ”think this could work out, think this week could be like a test, you know?”

Mickey feels like a third wheel, and listening to Mandy pouring her heart out to her best friend just seems wrong on every level, so he leaves them alone and escapes into the kitchen to halfheartedly move the worst of their dishes to the sink and then goes to bed. Ian and Mandy stand in the hallway and talk the whole time he’s getting ready, and it’s not until he’s lying in bed, staring up at the dark ceiling, that he hears the front door finally closing and Ian quietly moving around the apartment.

Ian goes to work on Monday. He’s brewed Mickey some fresh coffee and done last night’s dishes, but left before Yevgeny stirs and forces Mickey out of bed around nine. Mickey drinks his coffee and smears baby food all over Yevgeny’s face, hoping at least some of it ends up inside the little guy, and maybe he thinks about getting up an hour earlier tomorrow morning.

Mickey cooks, not well or anything, but it puts food on the table. Yevgeny’s still into mush, mostly, but he figures that at some point he’ll want to feed the kid some semi interesting and _good_ food, so he might as well start making an effort now, like practice. He always makes a little extra so he can bring a packed lunch for work instead of wasting money on takeout every day and this is really the main reason why he’s got food for two on the table when Ian comes back home in the evening. It’d just be straight up antagonistic to not offer the guy to sit with them and have some.

It’s only for a few short days, but they fall into a kind of easy routine, and while Mickey loves hanging out with his son, Ian does offer a little more in terms of conversation. He’s funny, in the worst possible sense, and smart in a kind of quiet, surprising way. He’s good company, and Mickey is a little surprised at how quickly he takes to having the guy around so much.

It’s Wednesday night when Yevgeny falls asleep curled up in Ian’s arms, and Ian unprompted gets up from the couch to put the kid to bed. Itching for a smoke, Mickey cracks open a window, as wide as it goes, and stands next to it as he lights one up, balancing an ashtray on the windowsill and blowing smoke out into the surprisingly mild November air.

He hears his bedroom door close and then Ian is coming up next to him, crossing his arms at the slight cold and leaning against the other side of the window.

”So,” he says, smirking a little when Mickey looks at him, ”tomorrow’s the big day.”

”Jesus,” Mickey huffs but can’t help a quick grin, ”you’re so dramatic.”

”You can still back out if you want,” Ian tells him with nothing short of endearing sincerity.

”Fuck that,” Mickey scoffs and pulls at his cigarette, ”been starving myself for a week in anticipation of this-, what was that? ’Off the hook’, fancy-ass Thanksgiving dinner, gonna have to tie me to a chair if you don’t want me there.”

”Okay,” Ian says with an obviously pleased smile, looking out over the Chicago night lights, ”good.”

Mickey puts the cigarette to his lips and lets it hang there, gratuitously studying Ian’s calm profile, dragging his gaze over his cheekbone and down his sharp chin, his strong neck. 

”We should practice,” Ian says and turns his head to look at Mickey with a crooked smile, ”like, prepare for tomorrow.”

A cold thrill of something runs up Mickey’s spine and prickles the back of his neck, maybe it’s just the wind.

”It’s not Shakespeare,” Mickey dismisses the idea halfheartedly and raises a shoulder in a lopsided shrug, ”thought I’d just follow your lead, I’m up for whatever.”

He rolls his eyes when Ian throws him a wicked grin.

”Within some fucking reason,” he supplements, ”but yeah, you gotta act the way you’d normally act with a guy, I’ll just go with it.”

He kinda wants Ian to make some sorta indecent suggestion, but instead he frowns and looks down at his hands, resting on the windowsill.

”But guess I should know how we met,” Mickey admits, ”bet you’ve already told them some bullshit story, huh?”

”Fuck you,” Ian complains with a clearly involuntary smile, ”but yeah, they forced me to tell them _something_.”

”Shoot,” Mickey prompts and looks down to watch the smoke sift out of his teeth, mostly as an excuse to look away from Ian’s face.

”Well,” Ian starts, ”’course we met way back.”

”Sticking to reality,” Mickey hums drily and nods, ”smart.”

”And then we kinda bumped into each other again a few months ago,” Ian continues, ignoring Mickey’s input, ”and long story short, I sorta left Jarred for you?”

Raising his eyebrows Mickey looks over at Ian, staring back at him like he’s trying to gauge his reaction.

”So I’m a home wrecker?” Mickey concludes with a quick grin. ”Never been someone’s sidepiece before.”

”No, not that,” Ian insists, ”I don’t cheat.”

Mickey frowns, and then recoils in baffled horror when he lets that sink in.

”So you broke up with your long-term boyfriend to be with me,” he recounts, not sparing on the incredulity, ” _and we hadn’t even banged yet?_ ”

”Guess I’m a fucking romantic,” Ian says with a shrug, and it’s the most sarcastic and categorically unromantic thing Mickey’s ever heard, ” _sorry_.”

”And what the fuck does ’I don’t cheat’ mean?” Mickey asks, because he’s on a roll. ”People are assholes, shit happens, how can you know you’d never cheat?”

”Because I did,” Ian admits, simply, his jaw set in determination, ”and it sucked, and I’m never doin’ it again.”

”Well, fuck me,” Mickey mutters, jokingly throwing up his hands in surrender, ”guess we’re an honest-to-god rom-com couple, then. Did you run after me in the rain to declare your love? Was it at an airport?”

Ian laughs, clearly relieved that Mickey doesn’t want to press the cheating thing any further.

”Nah,” Ian smiles and glances at him out of the corner of his eye, ”mostly just fucked, you know, to make sure no mistake had been made.”

”And..?” Mickey prompts.

Ian tips his head to the side like he has to think about it. ”Jury’s still out.”

”You’re a dick,” Mickey chuckles, shaking his head, ”and no one’s gonna believe it for a second, so maybe take some time to rethink your answer for that one.”

Ian inclines his head again and Mickey braces himself for another friendly insult, but it’s not what he gets.

”True.”

Mickey huffs out a puff of smoke and sucks on his front teeth, fighting a losing battle against the sudden urge to ask something most likely too personal. 

”And just for like, reference,” he says, ”why did you really dump him?”

”Didn’t,” Ian says and shakes his head when Mickey looks at him, ”gold-star dumpee, right here.”

”Really?” Mickey makes a face and tries to remember what little of Ian and Mandy’s conversation he’d overheard last week, tries to reconcile his image of Ian as this end-game first prize of a fucking boyfriend with someone who’s managed to date enough idiots to get dumped more than once. ”But…”

”People tend to assume,” Ian shrugs, ”and I don’t argue, not really their business anyway. But no. Probably should have dumped some of them, but it never really seems like an option when I’m with someone, I guess?”

He frowns like he’s considering something for the first time.

”People are who they are, right?” he says and doesn’t seem to hesitate when Mickey holds out the still good stump of his cigarette for him to gingerly take it between two fingers and put it to his lips. ”I’m not tryna change anyone, just don’t wanna be alone. Guess I try to be who they want me to be.”

Quickly realizing that he isn’t gonna get it his smoke back any time soon, Mickey’s busy lighting up another one when he stops flicking his finicky lighter for a second to scowl up at Ian.

”I’m no expert,” he prefaces, flame finally sparking up and catching on to the tip of his cigarette as it moves along with his words, ”but what about ’be yourself’ and all that shit?”

”Maybe I am whoever I’m with,” Ian wonders and frowns, sucking the very last life out of his secondhand cigarette before stubbing it out in the ashtray and quirking a small smile, ”maybe I am what I eat.”

”Nice,” Mickey grins appreciatively, happy to let Ian joke away the serious moment, ”so you’re an ass?”

Mickey likes Ian’s laugh, it’s more physical than vocal; his whole body arching back a little and his eyes screwed close in pain and pleasure, low chuckles shaking through him. 

”Fuck them,” Mickey offers his opinion when Ian falls back into a kind of somber silence.

”Can I kiss you?” Ian asks, eyes wide when Mickey looks at him. ”Tomorrow, I mean.”

”Sure?” Mickey shrugs, trying not to seem too fucking eager at the thought. ”If you’re into that PDA shit, then go for it.”

”We should practice,” Ian repeats his initial request, jutting his chin out with a pleased grin and this time clearly meaning it exactly the way it sounds, ”I’m useless at first kisses, they’re gonna know if we haven’t done it before.”

”Fuck off,” Mickey huffs, licking his lips and placing his cigarette back between them to keep himself from doing something stupid.

”’m serious,” Ian insists, arching his eyebrows in a pretty much botched attempt at looking innocent, ”clashing teeth, open mouth, busy hands, I’m a mess. It’s not pretty.”

”Yeah, you’re not chipping my fucking teeth, man,” Mickey warns him, smoke billowing out with his words, ”they’re bad enough as it is.”

”Your teeth are fine,” Ian casually assures him, like a fucking dork.

”Okay, still don’t wanna lose ’em just ’cause we don’t do our homework,” Mickey argues, doing a 180 on Ian’s suggestion to practice and fully intent on pushing this joke to its limit, ”I refuse to go in there unprepared just to get fuckin’ maimed over it.”

He thinks he’s still talking when Ian suddenly steps up to him, moving in so close that Mickey’s body instinctually turns towards him to accommodate for his presence, and he finds himself staring up into Ian’s steady, grey eyes.

”This okay?” Ian asks, his big hands barely holding on to Mickey’s sides, falling down to his hips and leading him half a step closer.

Mickey doesn’t answer but puts his cigarette to his lips and takes a deep drag, letting his eyes roam Ian’s face. Smoke flowing out of his nostrils he slowly licks his lips and gives in to the swelling feeling inside him, practically pulsating from being so close to someone, _to Ian_ , and he carefully curls his lips into an easy smile and cocks his head back just a little.

Ian takes the invitation for what it is and closing his eyes he leans in just enough to tentatively brush their lips together, his breath hot against Mickey’s skin when he parts his lips to softly fit them against Mickey’s, still and careful and the complete fucking opposite of what he’d advertised not a minute earlier.

Mickey’s never had much of an opinion on kissing either which way, but he thinks this might be because he’s never been kissed quite like this. It’s slow and searching, not looking to go anywhere but right there, soft and pressing and fucking _intimate_. He’s vaguely aware of the cigarette still burning away between his fingers, but his free hand is grabbing on to Ian’s arm, just above his elbow, and when Ian sucks in a quick breath and tilts his head to the side a little to meld in closer and uses his grip on Mickey’s hips to press them firmly together, Mickey’s hand runs away from him to cup around the side of Ian’s neck, his skin warm and pulse quick against his cold palm, before he runs his thumb over Ian’s sharp jaw and trails his fingertips up his cheek.

Ian sighs into his mouth and he slowly runs his big hands around Mickey’s waist until they’re completely locked together. Mickey leans into it and sucks gently on Ian’s bottom lip before he drops his jaw just enough to let him inside, his tongue slick and warm when it’s pressing against Mickey’s.

 _This isn’t real,_ his common sense insists, but his heart and guts and dick disagree, all stirring and reacting to Ian’s presence and every little move he makes. Telling him to just fucking go for it.

A distinct whine coming out of Mickey’s bedroom breaks him out of the moment, causing Mickey to pull back just an inch to listen for any further sign of Yevgeny being in any kind of distress. It effectively pops their bubble, cold and sound and reality rushing in when Mickey looks up at Ian’s face, his lips pressed together into a firm line and brows furrowed.

He looks like he’s woken up from a trance and clearing his throat he abruptly lets go of Mickey’s waist, grabbing him loosely by the hips again just to step them away from each other. Then he takes his nice goddamned hands back and brings one up to scratch at his bent neck and the other to wipe absently at his mouth, still shiny with Mickey’s saliva.

 _It isn’t real_ , Mickey’s common sense reiterates, and this time his heart and guts and dick sullenly agree. 

”That should do it,” he mutters and quickly stubbing out his cigarette he gestures towards his now quiet bedroom as a kind of explanation and pointedly ignores Ian’s searching eyes as he brushes past him.

Yevgeny is fast asleep but Mickey stands over his crib for a long while anyway, clutching on to the side of it and staring out his dark bedroom window, willing his racing heart to slow the fuck down. It’s been a nice week but it’s over now, all he’s got left is tomorrow’s performance and then Ian’s moving out on Friday and then life is back to normal. It’s fine.

He wakes up first and is sitting alone in the kitchen the next morning, nursing his coffee, when Ian comes up next to him and places a heavy hand on his shoulder.

”Morning,” Ian says, smiling down at him when Mickey sits back a little and looks up, his loose grip around his warm cup tightening as he feels himself tense up in Ian’s still bed-warm presence. His red hair is messy and a little curly and his pale-ass cheeks are still a little creased from Mandy’s pillows, and Mickey feels like he has no control over his body when Ian’s hand moves up his neck and his fingers comb through the back of his hair, gently angling his head back as he bends down to press a quick, chaste kiss to his lips.

Heart in his fucking throat, Mickey stares at the guy as he straightens up and kinda sucks in his bottom lip like he’s tasting it, quirking a small smile when his eyes open and meet Mickey’s.

”Sorry,” he says, but doesn’t really look like it, ”just tryna make it less weird.”

”Yeah, well,” Mickey huffs and looks down at his breakfast, rolling his shoulders to shake Ian’s hand off him, ”you blew it.”

”Don’t have to do this,” Ian assures him, again, walking over to the sink to grab a bowl from the cupboard above it, ”you can still come for dinner and spend the whole day laughing at me with my family, it’s okay.”

”Said I’d do it,” Mickey mutters, eyebrows bunching up and breath kinda hitching at the idea of calling off their ruse, of cutting the fantasy short, ”I’ll do it.”

Ian seems to take his word for it and strangely, it doesn’t feel weird. Maybe it’s because Mickey’s just waiting for Ian to kiss him again but mostly he thinks he’s able to relax around Ian in a way he’s not entirely used to. Ian doesn’t expect anything from him while holding all the cards, Ian gets to decide on every possible casual touch and quick kiss they might share today and Mickey finds it oddly liberating.

His only wish would be for Ian to maybe be on him more, but after this morning’s icebreaker the stingy asshole keeps both lips and hands to himself until they get to the Gallagher house, only giving him a quick peck once before he disappears into the kitchen after Fiona’s voice. Mickey readjusts his grip on Yevgeny and then decides against awkwardly standing in the middle of the living room, sitting down to watch the game and settling in next to one of Ian’s seemingly endless supply of brothers.

”Carl,” the brother says even though Mickey didn’t fucking ask, and that’s that. Mickey grunts just to let him know he’s got it and one eye on the TV he manages to spend a pretty pleasant hour in Carl’s silent company.

It’s only when they break for halftime that Carl decides to engage him in any kind of conversation.

”You hurt him and I’ll kill you,” he casually informs, sipping his can of beer when Mickey turns his head to gauge how serious the punk possibly could be. He’s probably something like five years Ian’s junior but Mickey still has a hard time believing that the Milkovich name has lost enough power in such a short amount of time to make this entirely okay.

Or maybe the kid’s just got gigantic balls.

Mickey’s never had anyone give him ’the speech’ before and he’s debating between meeting the kid threat for threat, or letting him know just how certain he is that he couldn’t hurt Ian even if he tried, when the rest of the Gallagher hoard barrels into the room. Well, not all but certainly the worst, Fiona and Lip and their noisy neighbor Vee presumably leaving Ian and Little Red in the kitchen with Kev to fend for themselves against the giant turkey and sweet potato mash. 

Cackling at something Vee’s saying, complete nonsense out of context and garbled by laughter, Fiona flops down in the armchair on Mickey’s right, casually hooking an arm around Vee when she perches on her armrest. Lip ruffles through Carl’s unruly mop of hair and forces him to shove over and make room for him on the three-seater couch.

”Gotta tell us, Mickey,” Fiona attacks him without preamble, smile wide and brilliant when she stretches out a leg to poke her foot into the side of his knee, ”how did you and Ian meet?”

”Know for a fucking fact he’s already told you,” Mickey says, turning Yevgeny around in his lap when the halftime show starts, thinking it might be a little more interesting for the toddler to watch than the game, ”bugged him enough about it last week, don’t you think?”

”Come on,” Fiona insists with a laugh, and honestly he’s just surprised that they’re actually kinda treating him like a viable option for Ian, not just some trash rebound they expect to never see around again.

”That boy never tells us anything,” Vee complains, one eye on the TV, ”we want all the juicy details.”

”Like just how awesome does the sex gotta be for Ian to leave a guy like Jarred for someone like you,” Lip drawls, much more in line with that Mickey’d been expecting.

”First off, fuck you for thinking Ian cheated on the guy,” Mickey decides to speak his fucking mind, Ian might be able to let these people run their mouths and imagine they know shit but Mickey’s had just about enough of it already, ”and second, I know I’m no catch, alright? But if you think that asshole was good for your brother, then you’re a fucking idiot.”

Lip looks like he couldn’t give less of a shit about Mickey’s two cents, but he doesn’t argue.

”But what the fuck ever,” Mickey says and shrugs, ”we ran into each other a while back and kinda clicked, and Ian took a chance that so far’s been paying off pretty good. Not gonna hear me complainin’.”

”Aww,” Vee exclaims and Mickey actually doesn’t think she’s going for sarcastic when she does, ”it’s kinda sweet!”

”Honestly,” he says, mouth speaking before his brain catches up enough to stop him, ”always kinda had a thing for the guy.”

”Is he for real?” Vee sighs and slaps the back of her hand against Fiona’s shoulder. ”Alright, I’m sold. I ship it.”

Fiona laughs but doesn’t seem to disagree. Lip looks a little disturbed.

”What, like, in school?” he says, eyebrows bunched up like he’s trying to figure out some kind of riddle. ”One time I saw you bashing Freddie Molina behind the gym just ’cause he had a lisp, but you were-, what? Just sad and misunderstood?”

”Didn’t _bash_ the guy over his fucking lisp, Jesus,” Mickey insists, rolling his eyes in exasperation, ”I gave him a well-needed beating ’cause he let some dude peg him in broad daylight under the fucking bleachers. Anyone else but me woulda killed him if they seen him, it was a cautionary beating.”

It’s not like he’s proud of any of the shit he pulled as a teenager, but he sees no point in denying it or wallowing in some kinda guilt over it. It was the way it was, it can’t be helped now. Lip looks halfway between amused and disgusted, Vee and Fiona have the same kinda absently disturbed face on, eyes stuck to the halftime commercials on the TV.

Carl is slowly nodding when Mickey glances at him, looking like he thinks Mickey’s preaching his kinda gospel.

”Ian was sweet,” Mickey mutters, suddenly strangely ill at ease and eager to show them something of himself back then that he’d fought tooth and nail to hide, ”he was sweet to my sister, she’d never had a guy be sweet to her. Made me think maybe we deserved some sweetness, like… made me realize I wanted something like that, not just fighting and fuckin’ and hiding all the time.”

”Little league,” Ian’s voice cuts in through the slightly awkward silence settling around Mickey’s confession and they all turn their heads to look at him standing in the doorway to the kitchen, smiling fondly and brilliantly and straight at Mickey, ”you pissed on first base.”

”Fuck off,” Mickey laughs, ”you heard about that?”

”Was playing second,” Ian reveals with a strangely proud grin, ”I was ten and didn’t get it at the time, but man, I crushed hard on you all the way through high school, kinda thought you were the coolest guy I ever met.”

”No shit,” Mickey says, arching his eyebrows and fighting to sit still when Ian starts walking towards him, ”didn’t know that.”

Ian shrugs a little self-consciously, leaning against the couch and bending over to touch a hand to Mickey’s jaw, angling his face up and placing a soft kiss to his lips, and then another right over Mickey’s left dimple.

”Thanks,” he mumbles before he pulls away, grinning and dropping his hand to Yevgeny’s head to gently run his fingers through his wispy blond hair. He leaves Mickey shellshocked and barely able to process the second half of the game, lips fucking tingling and hands itching to do something, anything, once Yevgeny grows tired of just sitting around and decides to explore the house, crawling, staggering, and running around with his new best friend Liam attached to one hand.

Overlooking the fact that his whole day is based on one big, fat lie, Mickey thinks it’s probably the best Thanksgiving he’s ever had. It’s not much of a competition, but still. The food is, as promised, off the hook and the company is infinitely more enjoyable than he’d imagined.

So when he’s back on the couch after a late dessert, doing a decent impression of a beached whale with his kid asleep on his chest and Ian leaning heavily against his shoulder, he doesn’t even try to argue when it’s suggested that they stay the night. Yevgeny even has a perfect place to sleep since they’d never bothered to put away Liam’s crib when he moved on to inherit Carl’s bed, who’d taken over Lip’s room. Unwilling to go too far away from his son, though, Mickey and Ian end up taking Ian’s old twin bed, squeezing in together and awkwardly facing each other on the narrow mattress.

”I could sleep on the couch,” Ian whispers, not needing to speak any louder with their faces shoved so close together, noses almost touching.

”Sure,” Mickey scoffs, ”cause that wouldn’t be weird at all.”

Ian smiles and Mickey is two seconds away from kissing him when he suddenly struggles to turn around without knocking Mickey on his ass, starting with his head and shoulders, then torso and hips until he settles in, stretched out on his back.

”Yeah okay,” Mickey huffs, ”take all the space, why the fuck not?”

Ian chuckles and picks up a hand to put it behind his head, inching himself closer to the wall to give Mickey some more room. Mickey can feel himself pushing the edge of the mattress to its limit, so it’s more self-preservation than anything else when he shuffles after and lines himself up against Ian’s side, trying to feel like he’s not falling off a whole different kinda ledge when he puts his free arm around Ian’s waist, just to hold himself in place.

”Okay?” he asks, eyes stuck to Ian’s inscrutable profile. Ian gives him a curt nod and this is how they fall asleep, the steady rise and fall of Ian’s chest under Mickey’s heavy arm and Mickey’s warm breath fanning over Ian’s bare shoulder.

It’s still dark when Mickey jerks awake, untangling himself from Ian and turning around to swing his feet down on the floor, rubbing at his eyes and glancing over at Yevgeny’s quiet crib. He can’t remember what he was dreaming about, but he’s hard as a fucking rock and he can’t in all good consciousness stay in bed with Ian like this. Sighing he gets on his feet and creeps out the room and down the stairs. The whole house is quiet, completely transformed by the soft light of dawn creeping in ahead of the first rays of sunlight, just hidden behind the neighbors’ rooftops when he stands by the sink and pours himself a glass of water. 

He puts the glass down and turns around at the sound of someone walking down the stairs, only to see Ian stepping down onto the kitchen floor, rubbing an eye and blinking over at Mickey like he’s surprised to see him.

”I-,” Mickey starts and points with his thumb over his shoulder, stopping to swallow when the sound of his voice seems too loud in the still sleeping house. Ian nods, hand dropping down his side and drawing Mickey’s attention to what’s going on in his boxers, hung low off his hips and tenting out over his very obvious boner.

Mickey snaps his eyes back up only to see Ian staring at him, gaze dark with sudden, unmasked want. It ignites the whole fucking room, like electricity bouncing between them when Ian takes a couple of quick strides through the kitchen and might as well have swallowed Mickey whole, he feels so lost on the guy when their lips crash together and tongues tangle, when Ian’s hands grip around him and his long fingers dig into the soft fat of his ass. When he practically claws at Ian’s back in his eagerness to push up his tank and shoves his other hand down his boxers to loosely wrap around his dick and give it a couple of quick pumps, grinning into Ian’s mouth as he feels out the guy’s pretty goddamned satisfactory package from base to tip, already so hard and ready.

”Mick,” Ian grunts and sucks harder on his bottom lip before he’s pressing closer and licks into his mouth, thrusting slowly into Mickey’s hand, ”fuck.”

Mickey’s shoving aside leftovers and condiments, something falling into the sink when he heaves himself up to sit on the edge of the counter, pulling at Ian’s hips to bring him in between his knees, spread wide and hitching up Ian’s sides when he pushes in close, kissing Mickey like he needs his air to breathe.

Pushing down Ian’s underwear, Mickey leaves his leaking dick hanging to awkwardly work his own boxers down enough to expose his ass, hissing at the cold feel of the countertop against his bare skin but forgetting about it the second Ian grins and attacks his mouth again, a low moan stuck in the back of his throat as they rut against each other.

”Hurry,” Mickey mutters into his mouth and yelps when Ian grabs him under the knees and pulls him forward to the very edge of the counter, asshole front and center, ”shit-, fuck me, come on.”

Ian nods but doesn’t seem to understand the urgency when he dips back in to kiss him again, his dick poking into Mickey’s skin and rubbing against his perineum, up his thighs and balls, lining up with his own cock when Ian rocks his body and hugs Mickey closer.

Mickey is about to start complaining when Ian abandons his lips and starts mouthing his way down his chin and neck, pushing up his t-shirt to leave a wet trail down Mickey’s stomach until he’s all the way down on his knees and licking into Mickey’s hole.

”Fuck,” Mickey bites and grabs on to Ian’s unruly hair, placing his feet on his shoulders and spreading himself wider when Ian fucks and spits into him, using his mouth and fingers to open him up.

He’s panting and flushed when Ian reappears, getting on his feet and holding on to Mickey’s legs when he steps in close, head of his cock nudging against Mickey, so close to where he wants it. His face is shiny and slick with spit.

”I didn’t bring anything,” he says, voice low and breathless.

”Don’t care,” Mickey lies, because he fucking promised himself to never be stupid about this shit ever again. Ian groans and hovers his face close to Mickey’s, probably hesitant to kiss him after being all up his ass. Mickey’s head is a whirlpool of _I don’t care_ , he just wants Ian to fucking take him already, kiss him and fuck him and make him forget his own name and everything else.

”Gotta be something,” Ian mutters and leans back a little, letting Mickey’s legs hang free as he starts pulling cupboards and drawers open, any that are within his immediate reach.

”You think they’ve got rubbers stashed in the kitchen?” Mickey questions his hunt, annoyed at the interruption but mostly grateful that Ian seems to be of the same mind when it comes to protection.

”Wouldn’t surprise me,” Ian says right before his determined frown turns into a victorious grin, ”gotcha.”

”How old is that?” Mickey huffs when Ian pulls out a dusty sleeve of condoms from behind the vitamins in one of the top cupboards.

”Don’t know,” Ian frowns, turning the condoms over in search of an expiration date, ”probably good?”

”Fuckin’ good enough,” Mickey practically growls, urgency kicking back in when Ian presses in closer and fills up all his senses with his scent and hands and big, blown out eyes, staring into his own like what they’re doing isn’t still pretend, isn’t a mistake.

Ian fucks into him right there and Mickey’s holding on to whatever he can reach, edges and cupboards and the sink, Ian’s hips and shoulders and hair. He’s clamping his legs around Ian’s thrusting hips, digging his heels into his back and ass while he’s stabbing into him, slow and hard and relentless and only picking up speed once Mickey really starts falling apart.

Leaving his own dick untouched, pressed up between them every time Ian bottoms out, Mickey revels in the building need for release and the gorgeous fucking sight of Ian’s face as he loses his composure little by little, thrust by thrust, his dick long and fat and so full inside Mickey’s ass, stretching and burning around it, jolts and waves of pleasure pulsating through his body when Ian finds his spot and pushes into it with purpose.

”Come in me,” Mickey breathes out, wrapping his arms around Ian’s head and holding their faces close together, ”come on, Ian. Fuck me.”

Ian’s drilling into him like a fucking jackhammer when his face contorts and he comes with a loud groan, almost managing to muffle the sound by clamping his arms around Mickey and attaching his mouth to his neck, kissing and sinking his teeth into his skin as he stutters and shoves his ejaculating cock up into Mickey’s ass.

”Shit, keep doin’ that,” Mickey pants into his ear, Ian’s hand moving up and down Mickey’s dick as he’s still pushing his own inside him with lazy, shallow thrusts, soft and slick, ”’m close.”

He almost falls off the counter when Ian suddenly lets go of him, pulling out and sinking down to suck him off. He doesn’t have to try very hard, Mickey’s coming the second Ian’s lips close around his sensitive head, cursing and shaking as he tries not to thrust up into the wet heat of his mouth.

When Mickey opens his eyes again, Ian’s straightening up and stepping back in between his weak knees, his swollen lips twisted into a cocky grin that fades a little as he seems to search Mickey’s eyes. Mickey can tell he’s about to say something when a loud thud from upstairs snaps their attention to the stairs and the sudden sound of feet coming down it.

”Shit,” Ian laughs and helps Mickey down from the counter, like a goddamned gentleman, tucking himself into his boxers and kinda shielding Mickey from immediate view as he does the same.

”What?” Fiona exclaims with a wide smile as she steps into the kitchen. ”What are you two doing up this early?”

”Couldn’t sleep,” Ian explains.

”Thirsty,” Mickey mutters and clears his throat, trying to ignore the very obvious sweaty imprint of his ass on the kitchen counter.

Fiona’s smile falters, quickly replaced by exasperated disgust.

”Please don’t fuck in the kitchen,” she complains, ”this is where we eat!”

”Oh, come on Fiona,” Ian actually decides to fucking argue, ”pretty sure you banged Jimmy Steve in here like all the time when we were kids.”

”I’ll just-,” Mickey starts, but the bickering siblings don’t really seem to mind him when he decides to keep out of it and sidesteps them both to climb the stairs and check in on his son.

Breakfast isn’t as awkward as it could have been, Fiona seems to have gotten over the whole sex-in-her-kitchen hurdle and at worst she’s just aiming the occasional raunchy joke in Mickey’s direction. Ian spends most of his time not looking at Mickey, only to stare at him when he thinks Mickey can’t see him. It’s annoying and fucking adorable, but it needs to stop.

They pack up their shit and leave after breakfast, the ride silent with Yevgeny asleep in the front seat and Ian lost in thought in the back. Mickey’s using the fact that he’s driving as a pretty fucking valid excuse to not push for conversation, heartfelt or otherwise.

He knows what it’s going to be. Ian _just_ got out of a relationship. He might not seem too upset about it, hell, he must’ve seen it coming since he had the new apartment ready to go only a week after the fact, but if Mickey knows one thing about the guy then it’s that he’s pretty fucking good at hiding his emotions. Mickey can’t expect to be anything more than a rebound bang at this point, it wouldn’t be fair on Ian to expect more.

Still sucks, though.

Yevgeny wakes up when Mickey struggles to get the front door open, ignoring Ian’s steady presence behind him and balancing Yevgeny on one arm as he’s fiddling with Mandy’s finicky fucking lock with the other. Of course, the first thing the kid does is spit up all over Mickey’s shoulder, it’s what he gets for letting Ian’s sister feed him too much of the breakfast food the little guy’s stomach obviously wasn’t prepared for.

He sighs and heads straight for the kitchen once he gets inside, not realizing that Ian’s been trailing after him until the guy starts talking.

”Moving into my new place tomorrow,” he says, like Mickey doesn’t already know. Mickey grabs a paper towel and runs it under the tap for a second before he turns to look at Ian. He’s standing in the doorway with his hands in his pockets, looking oddly nervous.

”Was thinking,” he continues as Mickey tries to wipe off Yevgeny’s squirmy face, the wet paper towel probably a bit too cold for comfort, ”it’s got two bedrooms and it’s a little over my price range, I won’t be able to afford living there on my own for very long.”

”Okay?” Mickey isn’t sure where the fuck Ian’s going with this but he feels a little distracted right now, throwing the balled up tissue into the sink to awkwardly pull down his sleeve over his hand and use that to wipe off both spit and water from Yevgeny’s pouty cheeks.

”Okay,” Ian echoes, ”so I know it’s crazy early and I’m not saying we should like, _live_ together or whatever, but..”

Ian trails off and shrugs when Mickey looks up at him.

”You asking me to move in with you?” Mickey clarifies, just to make sure he didn’t hear that wrong.

”No-, yes-, I-, fuck,” Ian huffs and shifts his stance, scratching at the back of his head in a gesture that’s already become so familiar to Mickey, ”sounds kinda stupid when I’m sayin’ it out loud. This is all so backwards, should probably ask you out first, huh?”

Mickey’s got a vague feeling that he should be jumping for joy or something, but it’s still being held down at gunpoint by this pretty accurate expectation that good things generally don’t happen to Milkoviches, and if it seems like they do it’s usually safe to assume it’s some kinda trap.

”You wanna ask me out?”

”Yeah Mick, I-,” Ian hesitates but then smiles, small and nervous but still kinda hopeful, ”I like you Mick, thought that much was obvious by now… I thought-, fuck I’m stupid, I thought maybe you weren’t lying when you told them that story about Mandy, about how you used to like me when we were kids.”

Mickey stares at him for a second before Yevgeny pulls his attention by trying to shove his face into his own sick.

”Shit,” he mutters and transfers the kid to his other arm, ”can you hold this guy for a sec, I need to clean this shit up.”

Quickly crossing the kitchen, Ian’s hands come into view as he grabs them around Yevgeny’s middle and carefully takes him from Mickey’s arms. Mickey rolls his stiff shoulders and is about to do something about the stain on his jacket when he looks up and finds himself all up in Ian’s immediate space, staring into his intense eyes.

”Um,” Mickey says like a fucking genius, unable to look away, ”sure, yeah. Okay.”

Ian’s severe expression doesn’t change, his voice kinda low and nervous when he speaks. ”Okay what?”

Mickey licks his lips and smirks when Ian’s gaze dips for a second.

”Let’s go on a fucking date,” Mickey clarifies, ”tomorrow.”

A wide grin splitting his whole face, Ian tilts his head to the side and readjusts his grip on Yevgeny.

”I’m moving tomorrow,” he says.

”So?” Mickey grins, helpless against the thrumming excitement slowly taking over, convincing him that this might actually be happening and somehow end up being _good_. ”Ever heard of this thing where you call a place and they bring you food in little boxes? I’ll help you move, spread a fucking blanket or something, we’ll sit on the floor.”

”Okay,” Ian laughs and Mickey thinks he must have stepped closer at some point, their noses only a couple of inches apart now. He’s just waiting for Ian to make a move when he realizes that they’re no longer pretending and Ian might be hoping for him to take the plunge this time.

Touching a hand to Ian’s cheek he steps forward and fits their lips together in a dry, slow kiss, keeping his eyes closed for a second when he pulls back again, blinking up at Ian’s softly smiling face.

It takes maybe two months before they realize that Mickey’s pretty much already moved into Ian’s new place the same time Ian did, and they decide to just go with it.

It’s been working out so far so good.

 

 

 

.

**Author's Note:**

> What am I even doing anymore? You're witnessing the rapid decline of a once semi-functional person.
> 
> If you're waiting for a NTW update, I'm really sorry. I'm not making you wait because I want to be mean, I'm really trying and it will happen eventually, I promise.
> 
> <3


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